


Johnny on the Spot

by readercat



Category: Penelope (2006), Shame (2011), X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readercat/pseuds/readercat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the McFassy 2014 Autumn Extravaganza Prompt:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <strong>Prompt:</strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"When the person that Brandon calls up is not a prostitute, but Johnny his flatmate and all the UST they've had building up ever since Johnny moved in comes to a head..."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Brandon's new flatmate, Johnny, has been driving him crazy with lust.  But Brandon knows that his flatmate is off limits.  Brandon resorts to an escort service in an attempt to satisfy his craving, and in doing so, discovers a secret about Johnny--and finds out that his attraction hasn't been so one-sided, after all.   </p>
<p>Hopefully, this is even somewhat close to what the OP had in mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brandon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kageillusionz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [kageillusionz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz) in the [mcfassy_autumn_extravaganza_2014](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/mcfassy_autumn_extravaganza_2014) collection. 



“...Yes, sir. He should arrive at your hotel room in about 30 minutes or so.”

“And he meets all of my specifications...?”

“Yes, sir: medium height, slim build, pale skin, brown hair and blue eyes–just like you asked.  In fact, I would almost swear that he was made for you.  He’s new to the agency, but I think you’ll be _very_ pleased.”

“Well...alright, then...um, I’ll be waiting. And, um, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Sullivan. Always a pleasure doing business with you, sir.”  

Brandon sets the phone back in the cradle and sighs.  It’s the first time he’s asked for anything specific like that.  Usually, he just tells them to send someone.  Male, female–-he doesn't care, as long as he can get that small, momentary measure of relief he needs.  He’s a bit surprised the escort service found someone that fulfilled his exact specifications so quickly.  Well, not his _exact_ specifications.  Only one person could do that, and he was strictly off-limits.  Which is why Brandon is having to make do with a pale imitation of the real thing.

Not for the first time, Brandon curses whatever led him to think that a flatmate was a brilliant idea.  “What the fuck was I thinking?!” he growls in frustration, raking his hands through his short auburn hair.  It had seemed like a great idea at the time:  split the cost of his expensive flat, and the extra money he saved could go toward satisfying his sex addiction.  What could possibly go wrong?  He should have known, then, that he was fucked, because it’s _never_ that easy.

His two-bedroom flat really was quite nice and it was in a nice part of the city, so he’d received a flood of responses to his advert.  Many of the responders were, to put it mildly, either scum or just plain batshit crazy.  The rest couldn't actually afford their share of the rent and had offered to let him “take it out in trade”.  Tempting as that was, given his sex addiction, he truly  was looking for a flat-mate--not a live-in lover or a sugar-baby.

After nearly a month of sorting through loads of disturbing, depressing emails ( _“What the fuck happened to spelling and punctuation, for Christ’s Sake!?”_ ) and phone convos, Brandon had finally come across an email from a fellow who’d hit the trifecta of sane, gainfully employed, and genuinely interested in the flat.  He’d called the phone number listed in the email and, after briefly speaking with the man, had set up an interview for the following day.  As soon as he opened the door that next day and looked into Johnny Martin’s clear blue eyes, life as Brandon had known it was _over_.  The young man was absolutely beautiful and nothing like Brandon had been expecting.  Those _eyes_. The soft brown hair and pale, creamy skin.  That _mouth!_ Since he felt like he’d been hit between the eyes with a sledgehammer, he’s sure he’d hallucinated the way Johnny’s pupils had suddenly expanded (as if he were as blind-sided as Brandon).  It was almost painfully disappointing when, on second glance, Brandon saw that there was no way that the disheveled, slightly disreputable-looking young man would be able to afford his share of the rent.

Brandon’s thoughts about Johnny’s appearance were showing clearly showing on his face, if the sullen, defensive look he was getting from the younger man was anything to go by.  Brandon schooled his features into something polite and offered his hand, inviting Johnny into the flat.  He could at least try to make the other man a drink (and perhaps make a date) before sending him on his way.  To his surprise, though, Johnny had been able to produce his last several pay-stubs, showing that he was, in fact, employed and capable of keeping up his end financially.

          “...and I do drink occasionally, but don’t party or do drugs. I’m not loud and I’m not into anything weird. I do smoke, but won’t do it in the flat. At worst, I gamble from time to time, but I've learned my lesson about overdoing it.”  Johnny had flushed a bit at that, and looked away.  Brandon tried not to notice how the deep flush made Johnny’s eyes look even bluer.

Johnny had moved in a week later. True to his word, he was quiet and often kept to himself–-usually staying in his bedroom, except to go out on the balcony to smoke.  Even though Brandon was always reminding Johnny that it was now his flat, too, it was several months before the younger man started acting like it was home (though he still tended to be a loner).  They've been sharing the flat for about six months now and Brandon is about to lose his mind. He can’t sleep because he can’t stop thinking about Johnny, sleeping nude in his bedroom just across the hallway. He can’t eat because his stomach is always full of butterflies. Everything about the gorgeous young man, from top of his tousled head to his toes to the tips of his nicotine-stained fingers has Brandon absolutely mesmerized. Those bluer than blue eyes, that creamy porcelain skin, those sinfully red lips, the adorable freckles, and that lean, surprisingly muscular body of Johnny’s were all conspiring to drive Brandon to madness. Worst of all, he can’t fuck without wishing/pretending it’s Johnny he’s fucking, he can’t even wank without imaging Johnny.

All of which has led him to yet one more lonely hotel room, attempting to satisfy himself with a poor substitute for what he really wants. 


	2. Johnny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny's a bit nervous over meeting with a new 'client'...

          Johnny Martin stops in front of the entrance of the fancy hotel and double-checks the address against the slip of paper he was given by the agency regarding his ‘assignment’.  Yep, it was the place, alright, but... _There’s no fucking way they’re going to let me in the_ lobby _, much less up to one of the_ rooms _!_

          While Johnny doesn’t think of himself as ugly, he _is_ well aware that his sullen demeanor and scruffy appearance don’t exactly scream ‘high-end’.  His combination of youthful appearance and defiant attitude _doe_ s make him very popular with a certain kind of _‘client’_ –but, more often than not, that means meeting at some no-tell motel and getting fucked on sheets of dubious cleanliness by some creepy guy that wants Johnny to call him ‘Daddy’.  Not meetings at four-star hotels with valets, doormen, and a concierge.

          Still standing outside, he lights a cigarette and thinks about how to overcome the hurdle of getting past the hotel staff to meet with his client.  He can’t afford to be late for this one.

          Normally, he couldn't care less about his clients, but he has to admit that he is curious about this one.  Usually, he just gets an assignment, with nothing more than an address and instructions to check-in when he arrives at the client’s location and again when he leaves.  But _this_ guy...the agency acted like he was kind of a big deal, making a point to tell Johnny to ‘make him happy’–-even going so far as to cancel all of his other bookings for the night.  The man had been very specific about what he was looking for, and willing to part with a sizable sum of cash to get what he wanted.  

          In addition to being curious about the client in question, Johnny was also now a bit nervous.  This guy apparently had some pretty high expectations and, to be honest, most of Johnny’s experience as an escort consisted of those quick fucks in cheap motels and quick handjobs or sloppy blowjobs in back-alleys and cramped cars.  He wasn't really sure how to handle someone who might expect more from him.  Like what it the guy wanted to _kiss_ him?  Nothing against kissing, in fact he quite liked it–-but something about kissing someone that he wasn't truly attracted to just made him feel kind of sick.  Weird, that of all the things that he’s done and is willing to do, _that’s_ the thing that really gets him.

          But, hey, it’s a living.  And it pays well.  He smiles to himself as he thinks about his new home:  the fancy downtown apartment _(‘Flat,’_ he corrects himself) where he could never have afforded to live if he was still a janitor.  His smile changes to a smirk as he thinks about his room, er, _flat_ mate, Brandon.  He wonders what Brandon would think of him if he knew what Johnny _really_ did for a living.  He’d told the other man that he was a ‘Customer Service Representative’, and, technically-speaking, he wasn't lying-–he did indeed service his customers.  

          He takes a long drag off of his cigarette. _I certainly wouldn't mind servicing_ Brandon _, that’s for sure. But that’s not an option._ ’  He sighs, breathing out a plume of smoke. Brandon wasn't looking for a lover. _And even if he was looking for one, I’d have to take number._ The man was devastatingly handsome and drew women (and men) to him like a moths to the flame.  He had it lining up at the door for him.  No matter how much he may want the other man, Johnny couldn't take the risk of hitting on him and possibly getting kicked out of the apartment over it.

          “Oh, _fuck!_ I can’t believe I’m so fucking stupid!”  Johnny suddenly groans, slapping a hand against his forehead.  He still forgets that _his own apartment_ has a doorman and valet!  It’s not like he doesn’t know how to handle them.  He stubs out his cigarette and comes out his slouch, standing up straight, and straightens his clothes ever so slightly, smoothing out the creases.  Shoulders back and head up, looking like he belongs, he waltzes smoothly past he doorman and valet.  Mission accomplished.

           The manager is another story, homing in on him with a beady-eyed glare of suspicion, wanting to know what Johnny’s business here is.  Falling back on his skills, Johnny gives him a secretive little smile, looks up at him through his lashes, and subtly licks his lips.  Ten minutes (and one very happy hotel manager) later, Johnny is on the elevator to his client’s floor.  

           In short order, he is stepping off the lift and, after pausing for a moment to spit the mouthwash into a conveniently-placed potted plant, Johnny knocks on the client’s door.

          Knock. Knock. Knock.

          The door opens.

          Brandon and Johnny stare at each other in shock:   _ **“YOU!?!”**_


	3. Ever So Clueless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brandon and Johnny are both on the same page. Too bad they don't realize it. So many feels. So much awkwardness.

Brandon stares open-mouthed at Johnny, horrified and stunned.  “Uh...”

 

Meanwhile, Johnny looks like a wide-eyed bobble-head doll, alternating looking up at Brandon then back down at the slip of paper in his hand (as if it holds the secrets to figuring out this... _situation_ ).

“Mr...er, Mr... _Johnson...?_ ”  Johnny finally manages to choke out, voice sounding a little weak (though somehow still managing to project a faint subtext of, _“Johnson. Really?”_ ).

 

Brandon’s can feel his face and neck go red.  The service knows his name, of course, but with the escorts he always uses an alias (or no name at all).  He never realized how stupid that particular one sounded until this moment.  “Yes, that’s, er, that’s me,” Brandon says, trying to regain some of his composure.

 

Silence. 

 

They just stand there in the open doorway, staring at each in a helpless, hand-flappy, painfully awkward, _‘What do we do now?’_ moment. 

 

Then... Brandon’s not sure what’s just happened, but Johnny’s posture has changed ever so slightly–-no longer awkward, at all, but suddenly _very_ inviting.  Fascinating at that is ( _and oh, it is_ ), more fascinating is watching the way that Johnny’s eyes shift from awkward to a little soft and strangely sad to something also _very_ inviting (and oddly determined). 

No longer the sullen (well, _quite_ so sullen), defensive young man that Brandon is coming to slowly know, Johnny gives him this little _smile_ , and this _look_ from under his thick lashes, and says, “Well, are you going to leave me out in the hall or are you going to ask me in... _Mr. Johnson?_ ”  The way he purrs that ridiculous name is the dirtiest, loveliest thing Brandon has ever heard. 

Then Johnny gives him that flirty, filthy little smile again and runs a hand down his own body, hand lingering on his cock, purring, “After all, I’d _hate_ to think that I’m not what you ordered.”  

Brandon’s eyes nearly cross, and he has to clear his throat to answer.  Even so, the best he can manage is a strangled, “Uhhnnn...” as all the blood in his brain flows south of the border.  Thankfully, that grunt was sufficient enough to communicate his intention to Johnny, because Brandon’s not sure if he could utter a complete, much less _coherent_ , sentence if his life depended upon it.  He’s never been like this before—nervous and shaky ( _He’s fucking shaking!_ ).  

It’s just that he can’t even count the number of times he’s had this fantasy:  opening the door and the person on the other side being Johnny, instead of some nameless, faceless stranger.  He wonders how Johnny would react if he knew that he was, in fact, _exactly_ what Brandon had ordered.  That he was exactly what, no _who_ , Brandon has been wanting for longer than he can remember wanting. 

But why did it have to be like _this_?  A business transaction...but he’d take what he could get.  Hopefully, after, the other man would...stay.

 

 

 

 

Johnny, meanwhile, was going through his own emotional crisis:  When that door opened and he saw Brandon... _fucking BRANDON_...standing there, he  hadn't known whether to laugh or cry.  He couldn't count the number of times he’d had that fantasy.  Hell, he couldn't count the number of times that fantasies of Brandon had gotten him through nights of turning tricks. 

_God, he wanted Brandon so much._   But not like _this_ , not really.  Not as a whore and his john, not for real.  For playtime, _oh yes, God yes,_ but not for real.  God help him, he wanted so much more.  He’d nearly turned and walked away, but he _needed_ this job (especially now that Brandon was probably going to kick him out of the apart--er, _fucking flat_ ), so he couldn't leave—he needed the money.  

And since this was the only chance he was going to get with Brandon, then he was going to fucking well take it!  According to the agency, _Mr. Johnson_ ( _“For fuck’s sake! Really, Brandon?!”_ ), had paid for the whole night.  And he’d wanted someone who matched Johnny’s description, so surely Brandon wouldn't turn him away.  With that this in mind, Johnny had made the snap decision to make the most of this opportunity. 

Just for tonight, _just this once_ , he could pretend to be...no...he _would be_ Brandon’s lover for real.  He’d live out every fantasy he’d ever had of Brandon and he would be Brandon’s every fantasy.  He could pretend that they were on holiday at this posh hotel and they would kiss and snuggle and make wild, kinky love to each other all night and Johnny would explore and kiss and caress every single inch of Brandon’s unbelievable body and make it mind-blowing for him.  It would be amazing. 

 

Yeah, he’d let himself pretend, just this once—before he had to say good-bye. 

 

          _“Well, are you going to leave me out in the hall or are you going to ask me in..._ Mr. Johnson _?”_   He purrs out the man’s name out low and filthy, already getting hard at the     way Brandon’s grey-green eyes darken with lust.  Alright, that’s one question answered:  Brandon wanted him. 

Johnny gives him what he hopes is his most seductive smile, and runs his hand down his body, lingering on his cock, just the barest touch (just enough to bring attention to how excited he’s becoming), and purrs out, “After all, I’d _hate_ to think that I’m not what you ordered.”  Brandon’s strangled response, is very gratifying and has him achingly hard by now.  Brandon appears to be achingly hard as well and when Johnny saw Brandon's cock tenting his trouser, he actually might have drooled a little (not that he hadn't seen it before--don't believe he hadn't sneaked a peek here and there).  Oh, yes--Johnny was more that ready to dive into his role.  He was already starting to fantasize that Brandon was looking at him like he  couldn't believe his good luck, like he was finally getting what he’d always wanted.

Oh, this was gonna be _so_ good...tonight.   Tomorrow...  Tomorrow would hurt like a bitch.  

 

But Johnny would worry about that...well, _tomorrow_.


	4. Johnny and Brandon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Brandon find that they are, indeed, compatible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it wasn't dead, only sleeping, lol. Short chapter, but they've got more.

Johnny saunters into the hotel room, making sure to put a little extra sway in his step.  “Tell me what you want,” he says, turning to face Brandon.  “Anything.” He spreads his arms out invitingly and gives a seductive smile.   “I’m yours.” He wonders if Brandon can hear the unspoken, _“Always.”_

He gets a little self-conscious when Brandon doesn’t move or speak, only stares at him with those beautiful gray-green eyes.  The look in those eyes is as turbulent as the ocean waters which colors they mimic.  Johnny is caught in the undertow and can feel himself being pulled under.  He starts, his heart thumping painfully in his chest when Brandon finally breaks the silence rasping out, “Anything?”

What he hears in Brandon’s voice is not what he was expecting, and now, it’s Johnny who can’t speak.  Unable to look away from Brandon’s eyes, he can only nod mutely.

“Come here,” Brandon says hoarsely, holding out his hand.  Johnny’s knees have gone a bit funny, but he manages to walk to Brandon without tripping over his own feet and soon he is, looking up at Brandon’s handsome face.  Again, they just stare, unable to break eye contact.  Then, at the same time, they both reach for each other:  Brandon cupping Johnny’s face in his hands and Johnny sliding his hands up Brandon’s chest to his shoulders.  At long last, each man’s gaze drops to the other’s mouth and they slowly, so slowly, lean in for a soft, tentative kiss.  But the moment their lips meet, they both let out low, growling, needy moans and clutch wildly at each other, tearing at their clothes, desperate to put an end to this aching want.

Neither of them even notices the vase getting knocked off of the night-stand and shattering on the floor.

Afterwards, they lay sprawled on the bed, chests heaving, staring at each other, shell-shocked.  They’d barely made it to the bed.  Even so, all they managed was to frantically kiss and rub off on each other...and it was easily the best sex either of them had ever had.  They were both a bit scared now—if that little bit was so amazing, what would _actual_ sex be like?  It would probably kill one or both of them.

After a few moments they finally come back to themselves, then start laughing helplessly.  In their desperation, they’d never quite managed to get their clothes off:  Johnny’s trousers are still on, but are shoved down around his knees (he’s not even going to _try_  guessing how his boxer-shorts ended up on the floor), his undershirt pushed up around his chest and his jacket and shirt, unbuttoned and half-off.  Brandon is in a similar state: one leg of his trousers is off (though his shoe is still on that foot (Johnny’s not even sure what happened to _his_ sock and shoe), his jacket was saved by virtue of already being off, but his shirt is a total loss (Johnny had nearly broken a tooth on one of the buttons).

Brandon is the first to move, taking off the rest of this clothes (preening a little when he hears Johnny’s quiet gasp).  Then he reaches over and runs his hand reverently down Johnny’s body, making the younger man shiver.  “You’re still hard,” Brandon whispers, grinning.

“Yeah,” Johnny says, blushing, as he kicks off of his clothes.  “Comes in handy on the job.”  He winces inwardly, wishing he hadn’t said that—he doesn’t want to ruin it, for either of them, by remembering that this is work.

Brandon doesn’t seem turned off by it, though.  If fact, he’s looking at Johnny like he can’t get enough and he reaches over to the night-stand and grabs a condom and lube.  “Lucky me, then,” he grins.  Johnny watches open-mouthed while Brandon slides the condom over Johnny’s erection and lubes it up.

‘Oh, my God!’ Johnny moans.  Oh, this is _definitely_ not his usual routine—he most always bottoms (even when he’s with women, go figure...).  He can’t help but wonder what it was he did right as Brandon slicks himself up, then straddles Johnny’s hips and sinks down on him with a hiss of pained pleasure.  Johnny’s eyes practically cross at the sensations of seeing and feeling Brandon lazily riding him, looking like some kind Greek god.   _And ohhh! The sounds he’s making_...or is that Johnny making those noises?

Brandon is still having a hard time believing this is all really happening.  He rarely ever bottoms for anyone, but he’s fantasized about doing this for Johnny so many times.  And even as good as if feels to be living out one of his fantasies, Brandon is even more entranced the look on Johnny’s face—the other man looks like he’s as thunderstruck as Brandon feels.  Brandon had never gotten the chance to _really_ look at Johnny’s body before, and he’s even more beautiful than Brandon had imagined.

At first, Johnny doesn’t really move, he just lays there looking stunned and making helpless little noises while Brandon slowly rides him.  Then Johnny reaches up and gently cups Brandon’s cheek while his other hand grips Brandon’s hip and begins slowly thrusting.  The sounds that Brandon make causes Johnny’s back to arch and he moans out Brandon’s name.

“Brandon! It’s too much! I’m gonna come!”

“Yes! Come for me, Johnny!”

Johnny comes so hard that his vision actually whites out for a moment. When his vision stops blurring he looks up at Brandon, embarrassed and ready to apologize for not lasting any longer, but he’s stunned at the look on Brandon’s face.  Brandon’s looking at him like Johnny like he’s a dream come true.

“Oh, my God,” Brandon breaths, running his hands over Johnny’s body. “That was amazing!”

“What—?!”  That’s when Johnny notices that his own stomach is striped with white and that is Brandon is breathless and stunned-looking as Johnny feels.

Neither of them knows that the other is thinking that this night is going to be everything they hoped for...and hopefully more.


End file.
